I AM THIS MEAT
____________________ Re-creation By Dianne Rees ____________________
In the room of Jane mistakes, all the Janes bubbling under glass. There’s too-sad Jane, angry Jane, ugly Jane, and too-smart-for her-own-good Jane. Each swimming fishlike in the discard pools. Jane-in-progress on a slab, writhing, realizing what she is: Jane-not-good-enough. Future Jane, controlling, looking for Jane potentials—a little of this Jane, a little of that Jane, but still not right, not right. Future Jane is a ghost and like all ghosts she has imperfect vision, a dodgy memory. She forgets she is each of the Jane mistakes erased and is still Jane-in-progress. Future Jane is uncertain how far she’ll let Jane-in-progress go before she turns her into a Jane mistake. Each Jane mistake that is discarded erodes future Jane. Each shedding renders her more featureless, more blunted. Soon she won’t be able to hear anything but her own internal voice, her external ears all worn away; her eyes will be inverted, contemplating the internal navel of Janeness. Future Jane leans over Jane-in-progress to cast her off, to pull the plug, to send her into a vat of Jane forgetfulness, when Jane-in-progress, a.k.a. cannibal Jane, reaches up to bring future Jane to her breast, absorbing her into her own Jane-in-progress nowness. Standing up, unsteady, as the Jane mistakes moan and thrash in amniotic uncertainty—will they remain or be eaten next or simply disappear? - Jane-in-progress unblinks her present eyes, stretches hungry lips and opens wide.
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